I have read the judgement of the High Court in the matter of the reburial of King Richard III and, frankly, find some of it startling. I have a law degree, so am interested in the legal aspects of the case as well as the historical context. This is significantly different to practising law, so my comments are my own opinion and I would defer to those more learned in such matters.

The intention of this is not to offend. I have thought carefully about posting it at all because the arguing needs to stop, not be perpetuated, and I fear that may be precisely what this has the effect of doing. That said, it is perhaps an opportunity to draw my own line under things. I shall try to distil the 40 page judgement and offer my thoughts on the matter, for what they may be worth.

The Judicial Review was asked by The Plantagenet Alliance Ltd to examine the legality of the Ministry of Justice’s grant of an exhumation licence for up to six sets of human remains at the site of the Grey Friars Priory, where it was believed Richard III had been interred. This was never, and could never, be about the correct place to inter the remains in terms of selecting a city. That is not a matter for the courts. This is an important distinction. The outcome of the case was never going to be a court instruction to reinter the remains in York, or anywhere else.

Paragraph 1, in the second sentence, states that “His death marked the end of the Middle Ages”. This has always been a prevailing view, but not a statement of fact in a linear, dated sense. I can’t help wondering whether this end of the Middle Ages being dated by the court to 22nd August 1485 will ever prove significant as it becomes absorbed by the amorphous, hoarding nature of the English Common Law. Paragraph 23 also confidently dates the end of the Wars of the Roses to the same date. I might dispute that, too.

The judgement opens with a summary of the history of Richard III’s life. Even this, though, cannot be recounted accurately. Paragraph 15 refers to Clarence’s trial and execution in 1482 when this occurred in 1478. Paragraph 16 refers to Richard’s journey from Yorkshire to London in 1483 after King Edward’s death “with Lord Hastings”, who was in fact already in London. It seems that even within the judgement of a court of law, the facts of Richard’s life can be muddled. I am nitpicking, though, and these fact are not, perhaps, material, though they are symptomatic.

The legal background provided to the Judicial Review made for very interesting reading, not least because it highlighted how easily this could have been avoided and what a doomed distraction it was. From January 2011, when initial contact was made with the Ministry of Justice (MoJ) by Ms Langley, the MoJ stated that a licence would be conditional upon the satisfaction of certain concerns, including “what arrangements are proposed to deal with the remains; whether they might command public confidence and whether there are, or might be, objections from any legitimate quarters” (Paragraph 31). The MoJ pointed out that there were “potential descendants, so this would raise greater sensitivities” (Paragraph 31). In answer to these concerns, the MoJ received from Ms Langley the “Reburial Document” describing a “potential way forward” as “reburial in Leicester Cathedral” (Paragraph 32).

When approaching University of Leicester Archaeological Service (ULAS), Ms Langley apparently advised Mr Buckley that after discussions with representatives of the Palace, the Duke of Gloucester, Leicester City Council, Leicester Cathedral and the Richard III Society, “all were content with the proposal for re-interment in the Cathedral” (Paragraph 33). Mr Buckley agreed as this approach was in line with archaeological best practice.

Three months later, in April 2011, at a meeting with ULAS and the Council, “Ms Langley again made clear her desire for the remains of Richard III, if found, to be re-interred in Leicester Cathedral” (Paragraph 35). At this same meeting, the real core of the trouble that was to follow seems to have been exposed. The Council’s Head of Arts and Museums stated that she thought there was “a less than 1% chance” of finding Richard III (Paragraph 35). Working on this assumption seems, to me, both flawed and fatal. How can a process be effectively established and confirmed when it is presumed that the purpose for it will fail? How can this be a method of decision making within a public body? Surely all should have worked on the basis that the remains would be found and established a clear, unambiguous programme of activity to follow the discovery. Failing to do this allowed the adoption of a flawed process with a somewhat slapdash attitude toward the success of the project in some quarters and therefore of its own need to be rigorous and clearly defined.

It is here that tangents created problems precisely because of the room for doubt left by the process. The Cathedral emphasised “its early agreement to re-interment” (Paragraph 36). The Council began to view itself as “responsible for all human remains found, and to have decision-making responsibility”. When a “Written Scheme of Investigation” was submitted by ULAS, in consultation with Ms Langley, “The Scheme provided for the re-interment in Leicester Cathedral” (Paragraph 37). The Scheme made no mention of where the decision making responsibility lay, allowing the Council’s impression of their authority to continue.

It was stated that the Council would have been “unlikely” to permit the dig if re-interment elsewhere than Leicester was a possibility and ULAS would “have been unwilling to spend money on exhumation if there had been a real prospect the re-interment would sever the link between Leicester and Richard III” (Paragraph 40).

The first public announcement came on 24th August 2012 when the University held a press conference, with accompanying statement, followed up on 31st August by a second press conference. At both press conferences and within the statement released it was made clear that “If Royal remains were found, they would be re-interred in Leicester Cathedral” (Paragraph 42). It was noted that “these announcements did not appear to generate controversy … over the location of reburial” (Paragraph 42).

When human remains were uncovered on the first day of the dig, 24th August 2012, an exhumation licence was immediately required by law. The application was lodged on 31st August by Mr Buckley of ULAS. Although it could have been submitted by anyone, it is usual for an archaeologist to apply for the licence to demonstrate that they can meet the requirements of the exhumation. This application allowed for remains to be placed in the Jewry Wall Museum, but further stated “… in the unlikely event that the remains of Richard III are located the intention is for these to be reinterred at St Martin’s Cathedral, Leicester, within 4 weeks of exhumation” (Paragraph 45). I am struck again by the reference to the “unlikely event” of succeeding in the stated aim of the dig and believe that this sustained pessimism is at the root of the controversy that followed.

The Secretary of State for Justice granted the licence requested on 3rd September 2012. It was granted to the University under section 25 of the Burial Act 1857. This piece of legislation and its incumbent Victorian vagaries will add to the problems as we shall see later. The licence states in section 2(c) that remains should be “deposited at the Jewry Wall Museum or else be reinterred at St Martin’s Cathedral or in a burial ground in which interments may legally take place” (Paragraph 46). This clearly permits burial in a place other than Leicester and I wonder why this lack of specificity was allowed both by the MoJ and the University, given their previous concern to ensure Richard III’s remains were kept in Leicester. Once more, the near certainty of failure possibly meant that it was overlooked. Paragraph 47 states that “Ms Bernstein of the MoJ still saw it as an inherently speculative project, as did many others.” That may be the case, but it cannot be acceptable to fail to properly provide for the success of that which a licence is being grated to permit by a government department.

At a press conference on 12th September, the University revealed that remains potentially belonging to Richard III had been found and that if they were confirmed as such, “they would be reinterred in Leicester Cathedral”. (Paragraph 49). It is here that the uncertainty of the licence grant reared its head. Mr Buckley requested a clarifying amendment to the licence regarding re-interment at Leicester Cathedral and was informed by the MoJ that the licence was to be read alongside the application form and covering letter, which made the position clear; “the precise location was for ULAS” (Paragraph 50). To my mind, this was the point at which things were settled and clear. ULAS were responsible for arranging the re-interment and the location was for them to decide. Their stated intention was to reinter at Leicester Cathedral. The end.

Or not.

Leicester Council now began to investigate the notion of consultation with “key stakeholders” (Paragraph 51), identified as “the Council, the Society, the Cathedral, the Royal Household, possibly the Council of Faiths, the Secular Society, the University “and other funders”” (Paragraph 51). Fatally, this consultation was designed to investigate “the principle of reburial, the manner of reburial and the location” (Paragraph 51). The MoJ had already made the position plain, as mentioned above, so this notion was only going to add fuel to a fire that should never have started.

Nevertheless, the Council continued with their belief that there existed a “duty to consult” (Paragraph 53). The Council envisaged a consultation process via its website and a decision being made jointly by ULAS and the Council, with an opportunity to appeal the decision. Worryingly, “The decision-maker was then to be the Council in consultation with the University, and ultimately the City Mayor” (Paragraph 57). As has already been established, though, the decision making body was ULAS. Mr Buckley objected to this approach and the Council’s plans were never made public.

The Royal Household was contacted, since the MoJ Burials Team were keen that there should be “no concerns” from that quarter regarding the location of reburial. No concerns were raised (Paragraph 58).

Parliamentary interest heightened and, on 6th February 2013, 2 days after DNA confirmation beyond reasonable doubt that Richard III had been found, the City of York wrote to the Secretary of State for Justice “making representations for the re-interment to take place in York Minster” (Paragraph 62). On 7th February, York Minster issued a statement “supporting the wish of the Chapter of Leicester for re-interment in Leicester” (Paragraph 63). Shortly afterwards, York Minster retreated to a position of neutrality. This flurry of ill-conceived activity in early February was akin to poking a sleeping bear with a pointy stick that had a hornets’ nest hanging from it.

That which had long been decided and settled was made to appear as though it was open to a public vote, a popularity contest. The REX-Factor was born. And there was only ever going to be one loser.

The MoJ wrote to Mr Buckley on 26th March 2013 suggesting a meeting between interested parties “to allow attendees to make representations and express any concerns that they may have”, adding that “ultimately, the decision on re-interment remains a matter for the University to decide” (Paragraph 68). Around this time, the Society “changed to a more neutral position as between Leicester and York” (Paragraph 70). This, I believe, was an error that acted as an accelerant to the kindling fire of an argument that should never have been. I can appreciate the difficult position that the Society was propelled into; it may have felt obliged to represent its membership more evenly and not be viewed as partisan, but the fact is, it had taken a side, then backed away from that side. The message was confusing and dangerous.

By now, an impression had been created and allowed to endure that Richard III’s remains were ‘up for grabs’. If all parties had kept to the original plan and the original agreement, his remains would have been re-interred and treated with respect and dignity in a timely fashion. Some may have clung to a sour taste at the place being Leicester Cathedral, but that timely, dignified conclusion, wherever it may be, is what most will tell you is the important thing, but it has been prevented by the brawling that has pervaded social media ever since.

On 3rd May 2013, Judicial Review proceedings were lodged by the Plantagenet Alliance, seeking ostensibly to see Richard’s remains re-interred in York. This could only be achieved by bringing proceedings to review the decision to grant the original licence. The challenge was made on four fronts (Paragraph 75);

It is vital to understand that this review is a review of the legal process only. It could never and should never have sought to take account of opposing preferences or the weight that any other location may carry versus Leicester. This was a legal review of the decision by the MoJ to issue the licence in the terms in which it was issued. This is why it was doomed to fail. Paragraph 76 makes clear the flaw, stating “The Claimant’s Grounds also asserted that Leicester Cathedral was not the most appropriate place for re-interment”. This appeal was based upon a passionate plea in favour of an alternative location, not on a fault within the legal process of granting the original licence.

The subsequent legal wrangling can, in my opinion, be distilled thus. The court could not cancel the original licence. To exhume human remains without a licence is a criminal offence and cancelling the licence would retrospectively make criminals of the archaeological team. This is both undesirable and deeply inequitable. The licence could not be re-issued under different terms because the remains were already exhumed.

In order to bring proceedings for a judicial review, the Claimant must demonstrate sufficient standing in the matter; a strong enough interest. In legal jargon, this is called the ‘locus standi’ (‘place of standing’). The Plantagenet Alliance claimed locus standi based on collateral descent. Members were 16th, 17th or 18th generation collateral descendants. Importantly, the court allowed proceedings to be brought on the basis of public interest, not that of collateral descent, which was judged to be too distant (Paragraph 82).

The Burials Act 1857 is described as a “paradigm example of a sparse Victorian statute” (Paragraph 88). Modern legislation is formulated to capture all aspects and to provide thorough procedures and processes. The Burials Act 1857 has never been superseded or repealed and its language is broad and sweeping rather than specific. Where this is the case, English Common Law will insert requirements of fairness into the application of the statute. Equity is a watchword of the Common Law.

The Plantagenet Alliance relied upon three perceived duties regarding the failure to consult;

1. A duty to consult.
2. A duty to carry out sufficient inquiry.
3. A duty to have regard to relevant considerations.

There is “no duty to consult at Common Law” (Paragraph 98(1)). Such a requirement can be imposed in four defined circumstances (Paragraph 98(2)). The first is where the statute imposes a duty to consult, which the Burials Act 1857 does not. Secondly, where there has been a promise to consult, which there never was. The Council may have privately investigated the notion, but not publically, nor had the University offered such an assurance. Thirdly, where there is a precedent to consult, and finally where failure to consult would result in “conspicuous unfairness” (Paragraph 98(2)). Without one of these factors, there can be no obligation to consult. It was the last two notions upon which the Plantagenet Alliance hung its hopes.

The Plantagenet Alliance cited four documents to support their assertion of an established precedent to consult. These were the MoJ’s ‘Guidance Note on Application for the Removal of Remains’, the Church of England and English Heritage’s ‘Guidance for best practice for treatment of human remains excavated from Christian burial grounds in England’, a DCMS document entitled ‘Guidance for the Care of Human Remains in Museums’ and a Council document of 2012, ‘The Curation, Care and Use of Human Remains’.

The Court found, however, that none of these supported the circumstances at hand nor did they create an expectation of consultation with collateral relatives after a period of over 500 years (Paragraph 153). Each document was guidance rather than a statutory requirement, but was found not to be applicable anyway.

The Court further found that no unfairness could be derived from the failure to consult. The Claimant also cited the “unique and exceptional nature of this case” (Paragraph 154) as creating a requirement to consult. The Court was, I think understandably, unwilling to set such a precedent, since unique circumstances could be said to exist in virtually any given case.

Interestingly, some calculations indicated that there were potentially between 1 million and over 10 million individuals who may be able to claim the same level of collateral descent as the Claimant. The Plantagenet Alliance was also insisting firmly on a requirement for public consultation, meaning “the public consultation regarded by the Claimant is entirely open-ended and not capable of sensible limit of specificity” (Paragraph 156). Legally, case law stipulates that open ended consultation cannot be expected and that the Courts cannot impose a level of specificity that would see them effectively acting in the role of legislators (Paragraph 157).

The Court therefore dismissed the Plantagenet Alliance’s application for a Judicial Review.

In my opinion, this whole episode has been a vast white elephant that has, and will for a long time to come, cost the Ricardian community dearly. I can fully appreciate passionate believe that Richard should rest in one place or another, but the tug of war into which it has descended is grubby and lacks the decorum an anointed King of England deserves.

The University of Leicester and ULAS appear to have established their position from the outset, made it public and never moved from that position. In my opinion, that was the correct course of action. The Society (with the benefit of hindsight) erred in faltering to a neutral position. Having entered the arrangements in support of Leicester Cathedral, that is the position that they should have maintained. Leicester Council’s attempt to hijack affairs was “unnecessary, unhelpful and misconceived (as it, itself, ultimately acknowledged)” (Paragraph 164). York City’s intervention, which appeared in opposition to York Minster’s position, which itself then altered, was equally inappropriate. The Minster’s changing of position from pro-Leicester to neutral fed the uncertainty.

The legal position appears to me to have been clear from the outset. The Licence was granted to ULAS and it was clear that they were responsible for the remains and their re-interment. Their stated intention was to re-bury Richard III at Leicester Cathedral. Other parties to the project agreed with this position and proceeded on the basis of this arrangement. There was no requirement to consult and to do so would have been almost impossible in scope. As I suggested before, the level of certainty of failure with which most parties seems to have entered the project was the fatal flaw. Shocked when Richard III was, in fact, discovered, they found that they no longer wished to maintain their stated positions. This lack of forethought was calamitous. At this point, to my mind, it is too late. Your bed is made by your own hand and you must lie in it. Several parties, added to by outside bodies, instead threw off the bedclothes and sleepwalked into the debacle that, as I stated before, has only one loser.

A legal challenge to re-interment at Leicester was never going to succeed. So who is the real loser? Not the Plantagenet Alliance, nor the City of York. The Ricardian movement, inside and outside the Society, whether in Yorkshire, Leicestershire or overseas, exists to promote the study and re-assessment of the life and times of King Richard III. Many also feel an emotional connection to the king that, unfairly, is all too frequently sneered at. The discovery of the remains of King Richard III is a once in a lifetime, once in a 500 years’ time, occurrence. Never again will his worldwide profile be so high. And we, collectively, have wasted it.

There are, I think, (at least) two things upon which all Ricardians will always agree.

Firstly, regarding his re-interment, his remains should be afforded the respect that they demand as those of an anointed King of England. Catholic ceremony should probably play some part in proceedings because he was Catholic. A box in a lab is not where we want to see him. This is, I suggest, common ground for us all. I fear that in allowing the community to be consumed by the unanswerable and divisive question of where is best, we have utterly ignored the unifying and infinitely more attainable question of what is best. If we all agree on what we want to be done, where becomes an irrelevant distraction. We do not, in spite of all of the ink spilt upon the matter, know where Richard III wanted. We do know, as a Catholic, what he wanted, needed even. This has become lost in the squabbling. Why is he still unburied, possibly in a box in a lab (though we do not know precisely where his remains currently are)? Because of the fights over where. That which we purport to despise is perpetuated by our own unsettled and unsettling hand.

Perhaps Richard made some plans at some time to rest in York. Perhaps he planned, as king, to be interred with his wife at Westminster Abbey. Perhaps, had he re-married and had another heir, he would have been buried in the Yorkist kings’ mausoleum at St George’s with his second wife, mother to a future Yorkist king. Just maybe Fotheringhay held a pull upon him, to rest with his father and brother. When he took the field at Bosworth, he would been aware that losing would result in a quiet, obscure burial nearby. He might also have believed that he would one day be moved somewhere else. He had the precedent of Richard II and Henry VI to consider, but on that morning, defeat brought no certainty beyond death. One thing is for certain. We do not know what he wanted. It is therefore an irrelevant and distracting argument. It can be discussed, yes. I love discussing such things. But to allow it to detract from the dignity of his treatment is not helpful.

Ask yourself one question: Will I stop being a Ricardian if the remains of Richard III are re-interred at Leicester?

Would anyone really answer yes to that question? Will he deserve re-assessment less if his mortal remains rest in Leicester than if they were elsewhere?

If you answered no, then where simply does not matter.

The re-assessment of the reputation of Richard III is the second area of common ground. This is different to the promotion of Richard as a saintly figure. He was a medieval man and monarch, not an unblemished, flawless saint. But he was not what Shakespeare wrote either. An examination of the man, hidden for centuries behind the myth, is what is sought. One day, proof may be unearthed that he ordered his nephew’s murders. I cannot say that he didn’t do it. Neither can I say that he did. But there is plenty in the myth enshrouding his reputation that is simply, demonstrably, not true.

This is where we have all failed.

Where are the documentaries on Richard III, his life, his times and his reputation, since his discovery? I have watched a Tudor Court season on BBC2 and a three part broad sweep of the Plantagenet dynasty which felt unsatisfactory in its depth and offered nothing of note on Richard III. Why is there no Richard III season, or Wars of the Roses season even? I fear that the simple truth is that production companies and documentary makers don’t want to get their fingers burnt. We have created a hot potato at a time when we should have been serving up lashing of ginger beer and scones. Instead of providing a ready-made, out of the box set of appealing program options, all fully researched and grounded in fact, we have guarded the Precious, sometimes jealously.

The real loser is King Richard III. The greatest chance for a balanced re-assessment of his life has been lost in what time will prove to be an irrelevant distraction of an argument.

The very fact that I felt the need to preface this with an assurance that I seek to cause no offence speaks volumes. The fact that I know I will cause some offence screams further tomes.

We have a choice now. Focus on the what, initiate and embrace the debate while the opportunity lingers, or fester on the where and condemn King Richard III to 500 years more in the darkest shadows of English history.

On 21st July 1403, a rebel army led by Sir Henry Percy, known as Harry Hotspur, son of the 1st Earl of Northumberland, gave battle to the forces of King Henry IV. The somewhat beleaguered monarch was supported by his oldest son and heir, Henry of Monmouth, Prince of Wales, who was only 16 years of age. This young man was later to become the legendary king of Agincourt fame, “Hammer of the Gauls” as his tomb inscription lauds him. That sunny day was darkened by clouds of arrows and rang with the screams of the many dying. It may also have defined the future Henry V as we remember him.

The background to the Percy rebellion was a mounting list of grievances that they felt was going unaddressed. They had been loyal to the new regime initially, but went unpaid for their ongoing defence of the troublesome and perilous Scottish border. Harry Hotspur, a famed soldier in his early forties, was dissatisfied that his wife’s brother, Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March was being left to languish as a prisoner of the Welsh rebel leader Owain Glyndwr, his ransom unpaid. Harry and his uncle, Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester marched south to offer battle to the king on the Welsh border. The two armies met on 21st July at Shrewsbury in fierce fighting that Holinshed recounts lasted three hours.

The Battle of Shrewsbury, 21st July 1403

During one of the many volleys of missiles, Prince Henry was hit in the face by an arrow which embedded itself six inches into his right cheek, probably at a downward angle as the arrow fell. Raphael Holinshed, the Tudor chronicler, recounted that;

“The prince that daie holpe his father like a lustie yoong gentleman: for although he was hurt in the face with an arrow, so that diverse noble men that were about him, would haue conveied him foorth of the ﬁeld, yet he would not suﬂer them so to doo, least his departure from amongst his men might happilie have striken some feare into their harts: and so without regard of his hurt, he continued with his men, never ceassed, either to ﬁght where the battell was most hot, or to incourage his men where it seemed most need.”

When the battle was finally over, the Percy force fleeing after Harry Hotspur fell, Prince Henry was rushed to receive treatment. The arrow shaft was removed, but the barbed head was lodged, unreachable and immovable. Eventually, the London surgeon John Bradmore was called to see what he could do. Bradmore’s answer was as revolutionary as it was risky. He later wrote a book entitled Philomena, in which he retold the treatment that he devised;

“First, I made small probes from the pith of an elder, well dried and well stitched in purified linen [made to] the length of the wound. These probes were infused with rose honey. And after that, I made larger and longer probes, and so I continued to always enlarge these probes until I had the width and depth of the wound as I wished it. And after the wound was as enlarged and deep enough so that, by my reckoning, the probes reached the bottom of the wound, I prepared anew some little tongs, small and hollow, and with the width of an arrow. A screw ran through the middle of the tongs, whose ends were well rounded both on the inside and outside, and even the end of the screw, which was entered into the middle, was well rounded overall in the way of a screw, so that it should grip better and more strongly.”

Bradmore worked away at widening the wound to give himself room to reach the arrow head. Once he could access it, he screwed the thread of his newly invented implement into the arrow head. Next, he tells how “Then by moving it to and fro (with the help of God) I extracted the arrowhead”. The next concern was how to treat the gaping wound in the Prince of Wales’ cheek and prevent a deadly infection from taking hold.

The ingenious surgeon tells how he washed the wound with white wine and wiped the inside of it out with a probe covered with honey, an early antiseptic, barley, flour and flax. Bradmore cleaned the wound in this way for the next twenty days, each day making the probe a little smaller to allow the wound to heal over as it was cleansed. To prevent seizures, a possibility that obviously concerned Bradmore, he applied medicines to the prince’s neck to loosen the muscles.

Bradmore describes this wound as being on Henry’s cheek, “next to his nose on the left side”, though it is generally believed that it was the prince’s right cheek that was hit; Bradmore perhaps referring to his own left. The surgeon’s star was in the ascendant. He was paid 40s for medicines provided to the king’s household in 1403 and granted an annuity of ten marks for his successful treatment of the prince. Later, he was made Searcher of the Port of London in 1408. He was also called upon to treat one William Wyncelowe, the king’s pavilioner, whose suicide attempt left him with a wound to his stomach. Bradmore treated him for eighty days and the man survived. He wrote his book, Philomena, before his death in 1412.

The wound left a physical scar on Henry that he carried for the rest of his life. The only remaining contemporary portrait shows him in profile, his left side facing the viewer. It is likely that this was to avoid displaying his damaged right cheek. For all of his fame as the victor of Agincourt and for forcing himself to be recognised as the rightful heir to the throne of France, this early episode and the physical mark that it left upon the prince is often overlooked. Henry’s apparent desire to hide it may suggest that it was not a mark of battle that he wore with pride. Perhaps he did not want his enemies to be made aware of his mortality and the fact that a stray arrow almost killed him at 16. He needed to appear invincible if he was to inspire fear in the French.

It might also be worth considering the psychological impact of this near-death experience on the young Prince of Wales. It is well known that Henry was something of a tearaway in his youth. Honlinshed reports that when he became king, Henry had a sudden, severe change of attitude; “For whereas aforetime he had made himselfe a companion unto misrulie mates of dissolute order and life, he now banished them all from his presence (but not unrewarded, or else unpreferred) inhibiting them upon a great paine, not once to approch, lodge, or sorourne within ten miles of his court or presence”. It is possible that his experience at Shrewsbury caused him to go off the rails for a while, the brush with death causing him to embrace a life of fun and excess whilst his position afforded him that luxury. By 1407, he was key to his father’s efforts in Wales, so must have curtailed his wild living. Once king, it had to end.

The early trauma may have also informed his more sober role as king. Henry was a renowned soldier, but piety and honour forged a strong moral compass (the execution of prisoners at Agincourt is often cited against this, but it can be understood in its context, if not excused because the threatened French resurgence did not materialise). Henry offered the King of France a single combat duel between himself and the French king’s son, The Dauphin (the king being too infirm for such a trial). It is most likely that Henry did so knowing not only that the Dauphin lacked military experience and courage and so would be forced to decline, dishonouring himself, but also that in the unlikely event of acceptance, Henry would win. However, he told the French king Charles VI that he wished to settle the matter in this manner to avoid “the effusion of blood”. Agincourt was to be the only pitched battle of Henry’s French campaign and he perhaps genuinely wished to avoid them where possible, preferring not to spill the blood of thousands of men.

Henry was also famous during his campaign for his treatment of his men, from whatever social level. He would apparently walk the camp frequently, not only keeping his men on their toes, but conversing with them, offering praise where it was due, criticism when it was warranted and encouragement where it was needed. This approach may have been nurtured by his experience at Shrewsbury. He had learned at a young age that any man present might be the one that would save his life. He should therefore be grateful that each one is there and instil in every man the desire to save their good and gracious king. Shrewsbury may, after some reflection, have created and reinforced his believe that God was on his side.

All of this may be to overstate the impact of the injury Henry sustained at Shrewsbury, but it is compelling to see the horrific injury as sending him off the rails as he realised how narrowly he had escaped death, and to see it at work in his later treatment of his men and his behaviour on campaign.

If nothing else, it explains why we see him only in profile on his left hand side.

King Henry V

Here is a video discussing the removal of the arrow head from Prince Henry’s cheek:

I shall leave you with Holinshed’s Chronicle’s assessment of Henry at the end of its detailing of his reign:

“This Henrie was a king, of life without spot, a prince whome all men loved, and of none disdained, a capteine against whome fortune never frowned, nor mis-chance once spurned, whose people him so severe aiusticer both loved and obeied (and so humane withall) that he left no offense unpunished, nor freendship unrewarded; a terrour to rebels, and suppressour of sedition, his vertues notable, his qualities most praise-worthie.”

“In strength and nimblenesse of bodie from his youth few to him comparable, for in wrestling, leaping, and running, no man wellable to compare. In casting of great iron barres and heavie stones he excelled commonlie all men, never shrinking at cold, nor slothfull for heat; and when he most laboured, his head commonlie uncovered; no more wearie of harnesse than a light cloake, verie valiantlie abiding at needs both hunger and thirst; so manfull of mind as never seene to quinch at a wound, or to smart at the paine; nor to turne his nose from evill savour, nor close his eies from smoke or dust; no man more moderate in eating and drinking, with diet not delicate, but rather more meet for men of warre, than for princes, or tender stomachs. Everie honest person was permitted to come to him, sitting at meale, where either secretlie or openlie to declare his mind. High and weightie causes as well betweene men of warre and other he would gladlie heare, and either determined them himselfe, or else for end committed them to others. He slept verie little, but that verie soundlie, in so much that when his soldiers soong at nights, or minstrels plaied, he then slept fastest; of courage invincible, of purpose unmutable, so wisehardie alwaies, as feare was banisht from him; at everie alarum he ﬁrst in armor and formost in ordering. In time of warre such was his providence, bountie and hap, as he had true intelligence not onelie what his enimies did, but what they said and intended; of his devises and purposes few, before the thing was at the point to be done, should be made privie.”

“Knowen be it therefore, of person and forme was this prince, rightlie representing his heroicall affects, of stature and proportion tall and manlie, rather leane than grose, somewhat long necked and blacke haired, of countenance amiable, eloquent and grave was his speech, and of great grace and power to persuade: for conclusion, a maiestie was he that both lived died a paterne in princehood, alode-starre in honour, and mirrour of magniﬁcence; the more highlie exalted in his life, the more deepelie lamented at his death, and famous to the world alwaie.”

The fate of Richard III’s nephews, the Princes in the Tower, is one of the most enduring and passionately debated unsolved mysteries of English history. This episode looks at the development of the story of Richard’s guilt and wonders whether Shakespeare’s play is a major red herring.

The 4th May 1471 marked a watershed in the civil strife tearing England apart. In fact, it perhaps marked the ending of what could legitimately be called the Wars of the Roses.

Two kings claimed dominion in England. The House of Lancaster’s claimant, King Henry VI, had been restored after a decade of his rival’s rule. King Edward IV, the representative of the House of York, had returned from exile to press his own claim once more. The man primarily responsible for unseating Edward was Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick. He had been slain in the fighting at the Battle of Barnet on 14th April, the Lancastrian forces fatally divided when Edward struck. After reclaiming the capital and placing Henry in the Tower, Edward marched out again on hearing that Henry VI’s queen, Margaret of Anjou, and her son Edward, Prince of Wales had landed on the south coast. The Lancastrian army marched north, seeking out more support. King Edward marched to cut them off.

King Edward mirrored his rival’s movements, cutting them off from their intended course. Margaret was seeking to cross the Severn to join with Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, who was moving from Wales to support her. Cut off, battle became inescapable until, as the Crowland Chronicler wrote; “When both armies had now become so extremely fatigued with the labour of marching and thirst that they could proceed no further, they joined battle near the town of Tewkesbury.” These were hardly ideal circumstances under which to take the field, but nevertheless, the armies arrayed before each other on the morning of 4th May.

Tewkesbury Abbey

Queen Margaret took the bold decision to allow her only son, heir to the House of Lancaster and last petal of the red rose to take the field at the head of his army. Edward, Prince of Wales was seventeen years old. He was young, certainly not of the age of majority yet, but it was not so unusual. In 1460, Edmund, Earl of Rutland had taken the field at Wakefield with his father Richard, Duke of York at the same age and both father and son had lost their lives that day. This was an all or nothing gamble, perhaps even a last desperate roll of the dice for a queen robbed of a kingdom. It is possible that there were plans for the Prince to take over from his ailing father if Lancaster were victorious. King Edward had built his reputation on martial prowess and won his throne in battle twice over. If Prince Edward was to rival him, he would need to prove that he was more than his father, who had allowed England to slide into this crippling mess.

The Lancastrian army arranged itself just outside Tewkesbury, with the Abbey at their back. The centre was commanded by Lord Wenlock. Prince Edward was also with the centre but lacked command experience. The right wing was led by Edmund Beaufort, 4th Duke of Somerset and the left by John Courtenay, 15th Earl of Devon. Their force numbered around 6,000 men in total.

King Edward’s Yorkist army numbered around 5,000 and so was slightly smaller than his opponents force. The vanguard was led by Edward’s youngest brother, Richard Duke of Gloucester, who had led the right wing at Barnet and acquitted himself well. Edward held the centre along with his other brother George, Duke of Clarence, who had defected back from the Lancastrian cause. Edward’s closest friend William, Lord Hastings led the rearguard.

King Edward IV

The Arrivall Of Edward IV, a contemporary but necessarily partisan account written by an anonymous member of King Edward’s party, tells that the Lancastrians chose the area of the battle to make it as awkward as possible, describing how they arrayed themselves “in a close even at the townes ende; the towne, and the abbey, at theyr backs; afore them, and upon every hand of them, fowle lanes, and depe dikes, and many hedges, with hylls, and valleys, a ryght evill place to approche, as cowlde well have bene devysed.”

The battle was fierce, and apparently a close run affair. Somerset charged the Yorkists, possibly to escape the artillery and archery bombardments. His attack failed and his men were routed. The Arrivall records that the pursuit of Somerset’s men was left to Gloucester, whilst “the Kynge coragiously set upon that othar felde, were was chefe Edward, called Prince, and, in short while, put hym to discomfiture and flyght; and so fell in the chase of them that many of them were slayne, and, namely at a mylene, in the medowe fast by the town, were many drownyd; many rann towards the towne; many to the churche; to the abbey; and els where; as they best myght.”

Edward IV’s Sunne in Splendour on Tewkesbury Abbey ceiling

The Crowland Chronicle records that “After the result had long remained doubtful, king Edward at last gained a glorious victory.” Somerset and many of his men took sanctuary in the Abbey. Many Lancastrians were killed trying to flee the field. Shortly after the battle, King Edward attended prayers at the Abbey and two days later he had Somerset and the others ensconced within the Abbey removed and tried before Richard, Duke of Gloucester (who was Constable of England). On the 6th May, they were beheaded on a makeshift scaffold in the town. King Edward spared the men any further mutilation, such as the quartering traditional for traitors, and allowed the bodies to be buried. Edward, Prince of Wales was amongst the fallen and is buried within the Abbey beneath a Latin inscription that reads;

“Here lies Edward, Prince of Wales, cruelly slain whilst but a youth, Anno Domine 1471, May fourth. Alas the savagery of men. Thou art the soul light of thy Mother, and the last hope of thy race.”

The Grave of Edward, Prince of Wales

Some estimates number the Lancastrian dead that day at around 2,000 souls. The Sacristy door in Tewkesbury Abbey is covered on the back by pieces of horse armour recovered from the battlefield by the monks and it bares the scares of arrow holes puncturing the plates. It is a beautiful but stark reminder of the losses suffered during the battle.

Tewkesbury Abbey Sacristy Door

Sacristy Door Arrow Holes

The fate of Edward, Prince of Wales has become a matter of controversy. Shakespeare has Richard as Duke of Gloucester plotting the murder of the 17 year old prince and revelling in the death. Holinshed’s ‘Chronicle’, which was first published in 1577, claims that Richard struck the first blow against Edward. Before that, Polydore Vergil, Henry VII’s official historian, wrote in his ‘Anglica Historia’ that William, Lord Hastings, George, Duke of Clarence and Richard, Duke of Gloucester killed the young man after the trio had captured him. The most contemporary sources are the Yorkist account of ‘The Arrivall of Edward IV’ which has Edward “slayne in the field” and the Lancastrian Warkworth’s ‘Chronicle’ which has Prince Edward captured by his brother in law George, Duke of Clarence whilst fleeing the field after the battle was lost. Warkworth describes Prince Edward crying to the Duke of Clarence, his brother in law by virtue of their marriages to the daughters of the Earl of Warwick, for mercy. Clarence, until only recently allied to the cause of Edward and his mother, Margaret of Anjou, refuses to listen to the Prince’s pleading and has him executed on a makeshift block in the field.

The closest that we have to an impartial contemporary source is the ‘Crowland Chronicle’, the author (or authors, as it is a continuation chronicle written by several different individuals) of which is unknown. The writer is generally considered to be a well informed, politically active and astute person, perhaps working within the court. On the subject of Tewkesbury and Prince Edward’s death, the Chronicle walks something of a middle line, remaining uncommitted in telling us “…there were slain on the queen’s side, either in the field or after the battle, by the avenging hands of certain persons, prince Edward, the only son of king Henry…”. The Crowland Chronicler then lists other notable names slain but does not assign the death to any person or persons.

The Arrivall’s recording of Richard chasing Somerset’s routed wing whilst King Edward ploughed into the centre, where Prince Edward was located, seems to suggest that Richard is not a likely candidate for personally slaying the Prince. Doubtless his culpability was cultivated to add to the dark reputation being woven about him. It is easy to see the story develop from The Arrivall to Shakespeare so that Richard is first implicated and then condemned for the murder of the young Prince. Clarence seems a possible candidate. He was in the centre with King Edward and perhaps had a grudge against the Lancastrians, feeling aggrieved by their treatment of him and having something to prove to his brother, whose side he had only just rejoined.

Queen Margaret was arrested nearby, heartbroken by the loss of her only son. She was taken back to London with King Edward where her husband was put to death. The Lancastrian cause was lost, the house extinct in the male line. By this measure, Tewkesbury marked the end of hostility between the Houses of York and Lancaster. The House of York was to implode over a decade later and be supplanted by Henry Tudor, who garnered support from both Lancastrians and Yorkists whilst being the heir to neither claim. The House of York was to continue to hound the Tudors into the next century.

Civil war ground on, but after Tewkesbury, it was not a fight between York and Lancaster any longer.

The Wars of the Roses may well have ended outside Tewkesbury Abbey, where the last petal of the red rose fell.